


cross your fingers // an ot3 drabblestack

by prairiehawkcompanion (Gemz0rz)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:53:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3910270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemz0rz/pseuds/prairiehawkcompanion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The OT3 version of my Lara drabble collection. This will be a series of nonlinear vignettes chronicling their relationship, each chapter its own standalone piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cross your fingers // an ot3 drabblestack

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: none  
> chapter rating: G

It wasn't the first time she'd seen Clint after a mission. She was used to that, actually: the way his eyes went bleary and unfocused after so many hours without sleep, and yet he still saw perfectly. How light his sleep was until he readjusted to their bedroom.

But this was the first time she'd seen Phil after, with the hard edge to his jaw that was wholly unfamiliar and the new lines in his forehead.

He softened as soon as his eyes landed on Lara, and she nodded, not approaching but letting him know he could. He gathered her to him with a gentleness that surprised her, but she still felt the ridges of the bulletproof vest he wore. His fingers left gun oil left smudges on her shirt that she would find later, but still she held on.

Clint watched, his eyes focused on them despite the lack of sleep.

When Phil's grip finally slackened, she brushed a kiss to his cheek, noting the foreign stubble there.

"Clint always says a shower's the best thing after," she told him quietly.

"Clint's an idiot," Phil groused affectionately, brushing a thumb over her cheek, but he ambled off toward the shower. Clint held her until they heard the water start running.

"You alright?" he asked into her hair. Usually that question went unasked -- she wasn't _alright_ with the ever-present possibility that her husband might not come home from work, but there wasn't anything to be done about it. But this time, it was in direct reference to the way her eyes had followed Coulson down the hall.

"Yeah," she nodded, and it didn't sound reassuring enough to her own ears, so she tried for a smile and began again. "Yes. I just... didn't quite recognise him. That's all."

Clint hummed thoughtfully, ducking his fingers under the hem of her shirt to trace her spine, skin to skin. He always showered and changed before he came home to her, but she could feel the new bowstring callouses there.

"Most girls like the ops gear," he noted, carefully nonchalant as he took inventory of how much stress she carried in her frame, silently accepting responsibility for all of it. He tried not to give her too many specifics about what they did unless she asked -- but she rarely did.

Lara rolled her eyes up at him, beginning to relax into the fact that they'd come home again.

"I don't think I've ever been _most girls_."

Clint's smile was sunny and exhausted, and his embrace was just a little tighter than usual.

"No. You never were."


End file.
